


Fruit and Horses

by StuntzTheDude



Series: Grounded [3]
Category: Barbarians (TV 2020)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Just a wee bit subby, Pregnancy, Shameless Smut, Slice of Life, Tacitus? Who's Tacitus?, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27939157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuntzTheDude/pseuds/StuntzTheDude
Summary: Three months after the battle, things are returning to some sense of normalcy. Both Arminius and Thusnelda are learning who they are, together—and a little gift from Talio helps Ari reminisce.
Relationships: Hermann der Cherusker | Arminius of the Cherusci/Thusnelda of the Cherusci (c. 10 BCE)
Series: Grounded [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033734
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	Fruit and Horses

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! So, as I believed I had mentioned in the previous one-shot, I'm going to ignore the writings of Tacitus's Annals, because it makes me sad to think about them when I see Laurence Rupp and Jeanne Goursad's faces on his historical Arminius and Thusnelda. 
> 
> Again, this series, Grounded, will likely be just as set of one-shots since I am really unable to make the long term commitment to big, chaptered fics due to school and life. Either way, let me know what you think and if you would like to see more!

Arminius was covered head to toe in chaff. The village had been re-thatching the brewing house—a younger friend of Folkwin’s family, Bilius, had taken up residence within to carry on their work, trying to build up enough stock of beer and barleywine to last the upcoming winter. Arminius himself didn’t remember much about thatching coming into it, but he had eagerly attempted to learn. He tried to contribute as much as he could—reik or not, the hard tribal life was far more egalitarian than he was used to, but he wasn’t bothered. He was also still doing some fighting against those that still saw him as little more than a Roman traitor. Some of their minds had been changed, but of course, never Segestes: it seemed the two of them had come to the unspoken agreement that they would hate each other until their dying days. Thusnelda didn’t seem to mind either way, as long as Segestes stayed out of their way,—since the battle, she had spoken to her mother (especially about her father’s desertion and treason against their reik) and it appeared that Irmina had taken it upon herself to temper her husband—if only a bit.

As far as thatching, though, Arminius wasn’t particularly skilled. It appeared he was most useful on the ground helping the others organize the lengths of remaining straw as he watched far more experienced hands above him speed through the process. _Perhaps I will know better next year,_ he thought to himself. The baby would even be grown a bit by then—not walking or talking, said Thusnelda, but there all the same. The thought of it again made him smile in spite of himself, losing track of the conversations around him—and when “Isn’t that right, my reik?” cut through, he jumped and almost dropped his handful of straw, the others (mostly women) on the ground around him giggling as he blushed and couldn’t help but laugh along, unwilling to share his thoughts no matter how much they began to playfully prod—until he was able to distract them calling out another exceptionally silent member of their party.

It was now October, as Rome counted it. The three months since the Germanic victory had passed in remarkable peace but for a few small Roman incursions—attempting to recapture their lost eagles (Arminius gladly hung his from the eaves of their hall) before winter set in or still funneling tributes and supplies to and from the few tribes who remained loyal. Talio and his men, along with quite a few Cherusci and volunteers from the allied tribes, had been gladly harrying those supply trains the whole while; Arminius had gone with them every time he could. The spoils were being divided among those tribes who contributed to the raids (likely why so many had volunteered) but it was Talio that made sure the Cherusci got first pick. Some of his men, too, had even taken up with Cherusci women: mostly widows of the battle. As they continued to more fully integrate themselves with the tribe and its villages, Thusnelda and Arminius had again been discussing if they wanted to offer all the former mercenaries admittance into their tribe officially. They decided they would likely wait until Yule—it was the biggest gift they could think of for their thanks.

Now, a cheer went up through the village as the final binding bundles were lashed in place. As the thatchers came down, Thusnelda had thrown open the doors to the reik’s hall—the village descended on the prepared food and drink within with well-earned vigor, toasting to her and their reik’s health alongside each other's.

Thusnelda took her seat at the head of the hall, but as usual, Arminius barely sat down: he moved from person to person, speaking with everyone he could and sharing a drink if offered, just as he’d done after the battle. That night, Talio and Thusnelda had watched Arminius, still caked in blood, some of which was his own; when they asked him from where, he said, _Not sure_ , and walked off. With an untended black eye and split lip from the fighting, he ceaselessly moved through the well and the wounded from all tribes: congratulating and thanking each in turn. He helped set bones if needed, stood in witness to the sacrifice of several of his own Roman officers (this seemed to please some of the more wary tribes), sharing mugs of barleywine to toast to the fallen. At dawn when Thusnelda woke to him finally stripped of his armor and rinsing his face, she asked him if he’d even slept; he blinked at her with bloodshot eyes, said, _I will,_ and handed her a rag to clean her own while he re-dressed in his blue tunic and went to find the other reiks. As they readied their horses later that morning to return home, Arminius had wordlessly handed his reins to Talio. Thusnelda turned away only for a moment to speak with the nephew of Reik Rurik, but when she turned back, Arminius had already mounted—he had lashed himself at the hips to the four horns of his saddle and was already slumped over his crossed arms, soundly sleeping, his warhorse now suddenly widely alert and perfectly still. When they began their ride, his horse started slowly and moved carefully: as Talio and Thusnelda watched him take every step with remarkable (perhaps uncharacteristic) grace and focus, correcting for any slopes or bumps in the road with ease, Arminius somehow kept himself upright as well—between the two of them, he barely rocked in the saddle the entire way home. Thusnelda shook her head. _It seems they've done this before,_ she’d said. Talio had nodded while once again checking the knot on Arminius’s tether, saying, _His priorities don’t lie with himself._ Thusnelda had little else to add. As they slowed to a stop when they entered their village proper, his horse gave an exceptional little bounce and Arminius jolted awake, blinked around, and reached out for his reins again, steering to his hall where he dismounted, leading his horse inside where he removed his tack and began to curry him down. All the while, Arminius was quietly speaking to the horse himself in Latin, and he slipped an apple out of his belted pouch with a smile—which his steed readily devoured, righteously deserving. Thusnelda shook her head. Later, she had asked if hadn’t had slaves to take care of his horse (he was an officer, after all), he shrugged. _Of course, but why would I have them do something we like to do together if I could?_ Thusnelda couldn’t help but laugh. Prefect of the Auxiliary Cavalry indeed.

The more time passed, the more readily she saw and understood it—his place was with his people, and he did not want to take any chance to lose it. As even-tempered as he was, all of the tribe had seen the change in him afterwards. He pulled his weight around the village; he offered helping hands when he could, and he listened to every grievance, no matter how petty it seemed. One thing was absolutely clear, however—he was willing to listen to opposition, but insults and tests of his backbone would not stand. He saw to it personally, and he was more than willing to defend his own, his wife’s, or his tribe’s honor, outright and swiftly, but fairly. He would not back down if he needed to fight—but he was good at picking his battles. Thusnelda fondly remembered one of the old women even remarking, _He’s a quiet boy, but Ari’s just like his father was before the worst of it. Maybe Rome didn’t ruin him after all._

Now, his head was almost always _here,_ not trapped in some half-memory or unable to wake from a nightmare—and she had never seen him smile so much since he'd returned to Germania. In all fairness, it was often just a twitch at the corner of his lips, barely enough to notice, but he would laugh, too—sometimes it even seemed he surprised himself. His nightmares had even more or less gone away: _for now,_ he always reminded her, much too practically. The worst of his being _not here_ had indeed begun to recede around a month ago after they had agreed they would cease the pursuit of a Germanic throne. Arminius never once had explained that her insistence on kingship was likely the catalyst for the worst of it; he didn’t need to. Somehow, though, any time she had the thought, he appeared from nowhere with a gaze both tender and firmly reprimanding her for her guilt. How he knew, she had no idea. Even so, he still listened to her wholeheartedly: he always asked her advice if he felt he needed it, deferring to her experience and knowledge of tribal life for all practical matters while closely listening to her reasoning and decisions to better inform his own. Thusnelda couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He was more than happy to let her rule in equal parts with him. He let her take the helm for anything he knew she was more suited for, but he was still willing to tell her no, just as to hear it from her. They spoke frankly with each other, and Thusnelda was glad for it. Perhaps their marriage beginning in the name of practicality had been for the best, especially now that they had truly fallen for each other—they were both eagerly learning everything they could about each other just as were both learning new things about themselves. Thusnelda sighed. Folkwin had been all she wanted most of her life, and she had to admit that they had grown into the people they were because of each other: their fierceness and loyalty to each other was part of what secured their victory in the first place. But that was that. They had grown together so tightly that when she had thought Folkwin had died, it had taken effort to let her connection to him snap—and Ari was letting her build new ones, both to herself and to him, however she needed to. _Think of yourself, Thusnelda,_ he had said one night as they lie in bed, not long after they had seen the burned body they’d thought to be Folkwin’s _. You must have your own feet on solid ground before you can pull anyone else up._ Arminius was right, of course. Perhaps that was why she had suddenly felt so focused on a throne: her goals had been tied so tightly to another person that the idea of something almost solely for herself had been too much to ignore. Ari—practical, strategic, loyal, loving Ari—had experience with losing everything and learning what was really of value. His experience was enough to balance her obsession and ambition.

Thusnelda was taken out of her thoughts when Arminius pulled her aside from the revelers, taking her into his arms and smiling his cockeyed smile. He brushed a few loose strands of her hair back into place, and she in turn and picked a few errant bits of straw from his hair and beard. “Talio should report in today,” he said. “His messenger said they intended one last strike and would ride straight here when they were finished.” Thusnelda made an uncomfortable noise and leaned her head against him as they listened to the singing that had risen up from one corner of the table, watching the deepening afternoon light fall through the doorway as people came in and out.

“He had best come soon. I will not keep this up any longer, Talio or no Talio.” She couldn’t help but slide her hands beneath the furs of her cloak to soothe her belly, now unmistakably larger—but so far, no one had said anything, especially as the battle’s aftermath and their raids had kept her and Arminius both so busy and the cold was coming, keeping her well and bundled up. While Arminius had spent much of his time riding from tribe to tribe ferreting out the last legionaries and their captains with Talio and helping them build their own village, Thusnelda had taken over coordinating alliances between the tribes from her seat in their hall. It had even rippled through the other reiks that Arminius was not looking towards the throne—which made some of the leerier tribal leaders a bit more comfortable with allowing Arminius and Thusnelda to retain such privileged positions in bargaining. But it was often clear that Thusnelda’s temper was wearing thin, or that she was not keen on much company but that of her husband’s. Perhaps the villagers had chalked her constant illness up to exhaustion, or the pain from her lost eye—but perhaps that was wishful thinking.

Almost on cue, a call rang out from a few of the children of, “Horses! Talio has returned!” and moments later a handful of riders trotted into the village to still more cheers, trailing behind them a few mules and carts laden with armor, food, and tethered goats. They rose their hands in greeting and as they tied off their horses and dismounted, they divvied out the crates and bags (it seemed they had already claimed what they wanted), but as Arminius and Thusnelda made their way outside, Talio made a beeline to them. He bowed his head to Thusnelda before turning to Arminius, the two of them clasping arms with wide smiles.

“It appears you were successful,” Arminius said as he quickly inspected both the riders and their mounts, then turned to the well-organized chaos of his people carrying off their bags of grain and other foodstuffs. “Were there any casualties?” Talio shrugged.

“Iestinus twisted his ankle when he missed his step mounting up afterwards, if you’d like to count that.” The three of them laughed as quietly as they could—the youngest of Talio’s men, poor young Iestinus's pride couldn’t take much more after he had been witnessed tripping over a tree-root while going to ask the dyer for his daughter’s hand in marriage. Talio turned his head back to Thusnelda, his eyes much gentler. Though he was only about twelve years their senior, Talio had quickly more or less adopted Thusnelda—after Segestes’s attempted betrayal of the Germanic forces, he wasn’t too fond of her father (the feeling was mutual). He was also probably just as excited as either of them about a baby. Lowering his voice, he asked, “How’s little one treating you?”

“We are not on speaking terms,” she said curtly, and she couldn’t help but curl her lip. He laughed, nodding.

“I am sorry that he’s got so much fight in him.”

“Can’t be helped. Seem’s like he takes after his father.” Arminius smile faded for a moment before Thusnelda took his hand. “He will do better with the one who will raise him. He’ll learn some common sense, for one, and he’ll learn how cool his head before he loses it.” As the smile pulled back onto Arminius’s face, Thusnelda suddenly turned back at him a bit wistfully, with spurious sadness in her eye as she picked another piece of straw off his head. “But he won’t have this raven hair, which does pain my heart.” The men laughed again, and Arminius tightened his grip around her. They had neither seen nor heard of hide nor hair of Folkwin since the battle, which the three of them had agreed was concerning. Once word got out through the tribes that they were expecting (and especially when people noticed she would be due much sooner than she could have been had the baby been even from her wedding night), Folkwin would make his presence known. Threats or not, Folkwin was oathbound to them, just as they were to him—and Arminius and Thusnelda had decided that if Folkwin did want to be a part of their child’s life, they would be willing to include him. Knowing Folkwin, however, he would still not take kindly to such an offer. He had already threatened to murder Arminius once; they figured that once Folkwin heard that regardless of parentage, Thusnelda’s child would be his heir, it would not go over well. Arminius and Thusnelda had already cordoned off quarters for Talio in their hall. Thusnelda had been displeased when he first brought it up one quiet evening, one of the few thus far that she hadn’t been physically miserable. _We can defend our own, Ari,_ but Arminius, ever practical, had replied, _You do not dismiss your reinforcements, should you have them. Besides. We will have to sleep sometime._ He had very quickly and successfully distracted her from any further arguments—and she hadn’t bothered to bring them up again. He was becoming _very_ successful at being distracting, something which she chose to take the credit for.

The afternoon began to fall farther into evening. By now, Talio’s men had joined in the fun, telling their own war stories or seeking out their new women, some of them brides already. Talio himself had stayed at Arminius and Thusnelda’s side discussing the raid and treaties that had been arranged in his time away. As their conversation lulled, Talio sat silent for a moment before suddenly turning to Arminius. “Come on then, Dominus,” Talio said, almost teasingly. Arminius rose his eyebrow at “Dominus,” which he most certainly did not respond to from almost anyone but Talio. “Everyone’s together, everyone’s in their spirits. Might be best to just get it over with.” He turned to Thusnelda. “I know you’re at your wits end with all this and you are not one to wait. Besides,” turning back to Arminius, “you stared down Varus and told him your entire plan—by yourself—and he still went with you to his grave. Here you’ve got me and Thusnelda, for starters, and we have a plan for Folkwin. All you’ve got to do is speak a few words in the same room as a man who already hates you and then wait patiently for your childhood friend to turn up and try to kill you. You won’t make it any worse!” Talio clapped his hand on Arminius’s shoulder. If Arminius was the type to roll his eyes, he would have.

“It could always be made worse.” Thusnelda stifled a smile behind her drink. Arminius took a deep breath, reaching his hand to hers, which she took and squeezed gently, her face set. “Are you ready?”

“Let’s get this over with.” Talio beamed, only for a moment, before he stepped back down the dais, taking position to Arminius's left as he settled his eyes across the tribe.

Arminius and Thusnelda stood from their place at the head of the hall and Arminius raised his hand for quiet. After a moment, the majority of the assembly turned their eyes to him. He took a slow breath in through his nose, looking back to Thusnelda, who took his hand.

“Your Lady Thusnelda and I have an announcement to make.” The little conversation still around them began to peter off into silence, all eyes on them. Segestes’s eyes, perhaps, were the hardest of all. “Come spring, we will be welcoming into our tribe our newest member.” Thusnelda then loosed her cloak from around her shoulders to rest her hands around her rounded, unbelted belly with a smile, Arminius wrapping his arm around her. If he had wanted to say anything more, though, it would have been drowned by the cheers and applause that suddenly filled their hall. Neither could help the joy that spread across their faces as another round of toasts was called in their name and the name of their child. They were both relieved—until both Arminius and Thusnelda’s eyes met those of Segestes and Irmina. Segestes sat white knuckled; face red but seemingly speechless. Dimly, Arminius registered Talio from the corner of his eye him resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t move—even as Segestes abruptly stood. For a moment he did nothing. Arminius almost hoped he would—but as Segestes turned on his heel to storm back to his house, his only reply was knocking a mug off the table. Irmina followed shortly after, her face unreadable.

From there, though, Arminius and Thusnelda could barely get a word in edgewise as the villagers toasted again to the blessing of their new heir; Arminius was pulled away almost immediately by many of the menfolk, who were doing their best to impart words of patriarchal wisdom with varying degrees of sobriety. Eventually he managed to break away back to Thusnelda as some of Talio's men began to sing a song of the Roman Reik and the Seeress' valor against Rome—“How do they have these memorized so fast?” Thusnelda whispered to Arminius halfway through. Bilius the new brewer even seemed thrilled that they had chosen to announce it after his roof raising. It gave him the opportunity to break out his first contributions of beer, which the whole village seemed to agree was equal to (or perhaps even surpassed) the last of Folkwin's family’s stores. _Or it’s just the chance to celebrate a return to normalcy,_ thought Arminius as he watched a gaggle of women that had descended on Thusnelda, howling over their own horror stories of birth and babies. _At least we will still probably have the winter._

As the evening drew on, most of the village began to split off to their own smaller groups, heading back to their homes and leaving only a few quieter folk remaining in the hall. Some others were already cleaning up after the festivities. Arminius and Thusnelda were enjoying the last of the quieter conversation when Talio appeared in the doorway. He waved them over and lead them outside, to where his own packs had been dumped after he had taken the tack off his horse. “Well, I have my own early gift to the soon to be blessed couple,” Talio said, going to his pack and pulling out a moderately sized provisions box they hadn’t seen. “Well, actually, it’s just for you, Arminius. I doubt you’ll want to share.” He handed it over. Arminius took it and flicked the latch, opened the lid, and his eyes went wide.

“These were on the...?!” Arminius reached inside and picked up a strange, purple and gold fruit with a care that Thusnelda had never seen from him, eyes gleaming. Talio laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“I thought you might like them. You damned Romans and your figs.” Arminius shook his head, eyes not leaving the fig sitting in his palm.

“I thought I would never see one again, Talio. They don’t last a week off the tree! And we’re this far north!” He carefully looked through the well-cushioned box, counting them. “These must be some of the very last; they don't grow past October!”

“Well, hop to it with them, then.” Talio had barely started the sentence before Arminius had taken a bite, closing his eyes reverently as he chewed. Thusnelda rose an eyebrow, looking over to Talio. He shook his head. “I hate figs. Don’t like the seeds. Figured he wouldn’t feel the same, though.” Arminius didn’t respond, but he turned the uneaten half towards Thusnelda to show her the rosy center clustered with seeds ringed in pale, gold flesh.

“Could I try one, then?” Thusnelda was absolutely not prepared for the face he made and both she and Talio couldn’t help but laugh: Arminius flicked his eyes to her, staring like she’d grown another head, before almost hesitantly reaching into the box and handing one over.

She took a bite and chewed, immediately making a face as she rolled the grit of the seeds across her tongue. Arminius took the uneaten half out of her hand and popped the rest into his mouth without a word. Thusnelda washed it down with the mug Talio handed her. “Gods around us, is this what kept you fighting for Rome? Fruit?” Arminius shrugged, but said nothing.

“Let's leave the man alone with his beloved for a while,” Talio said with mock gentleness and a barely straight face, patting him on the shoulder. Arminius let them walk away.

He stood there for quite some time, savoring the last bits of the fig, staring out into the darkness of the woods. He truly hadn’t expected to eat a fig again—though, yes, they were a bit overripe. He sighed. There would be no more olive oil, no more fish sauce, and likely no more wine, either. _At least, no_ good _wine,_ he thought with a small smile. When he had made the decision, there hadn’t been much time to think about just how much his life would change once he had left the Romans. Things had moved so quickly so suddenly after that, from the moment he took off his cuirass to dress as reik the first time, he had honestly barely thought it over—since then, planning and enacting a rebellion, hunting down the last of the Roman stragglers and coordinating food to survive the winter had taken precedence. After a day of such simple things as his village gathering to thatch the brewer’s hut, organizing straw and toasting alongside his tribe, it was hard not to: he even looked like them again. Of course, he still cut his hair (he didn’t like it touching his ears), but he had grown a beard—and he had since figured out a way of comfortably layering his Roman armor with his new clothes. He had a life here now, truly. His world didn’t revolve around Mother Rome or Varus, but the good of his tribe: his men and their horses, yes, but now their families and their lives too. He had his wife (who could absolutely take care of herself without him, so he considered himself lucky) and the child that would soon join them, with hopefully many more in the years to come. He smiled at the thought. He bit into another fig as he kept a tally of the remaining his head. He had truly never expected to be a father, especially at his age, even if he was only stepping in as the father of his wife’s child. Equestrian officers were allowed marriage, unlike most of the rest of the army, but Varus disapproved: _Your love is Rome, my son. When your service to her is over, we will speak of it again_. At the time, Arminius didn’t take it as anything more than fact: Varus was already on his second wife, but that was Varus. He had earned that privilege.

Arminius looked back down at the figs for a moment, then made his way to the small pen along the back of his hall, fenced for their horses to stretch their legs. He clicked for his, Fons, who ambled up with a snort and a nicker. For a moment he butted his head into Arminius’s outstretched hand, letting him run his hand from his muzzle to the wide crest of muscle across the top of his neck, but as soon as Fons smelled what was in the box in the other he would not be swayed from it. Arminius smiled and turned away for a moment to take one out and he placed it in his palm. Fons lipped it out and immediately began rooting around for more. Arminius gave a small laugh, and in Latin, ‘We have to make them last, my friend. These are the only ones we will get.’

Fons was about six, looking at his teeth—he’d lived through several charges with Arminius and since saved his life more than once. After Arminius’s last horse had been shot out from beneath him a few years prior, leaving him disoriented and bleeding (he’d been stabbed, somehow?) on the battlefield, he’d reached for the first living animal he could find—screaming, head pinned to the ground, his reins tangled in the body of his dead rider. Arminius had untangled him as quickly as he could (with a freely bleeding wound in his shoulder), and off they went. It was the most blessed chance either of them had probably had. From there, they were inseparable. As he took a bite of another fig, he handed the other half to the stallion, trying to make him eat it a bit slower this time. ‘No more battles for you, and all the mares you like.’ Fons butted his shoulder. He didn’t seem too concerned with a dynasty while there were much more pressing interests in the box now held behind Arminius’s back, and Arminius understood. Horse sense was superior to a human’s in some matters.

Arminius hopped up and threw his legs over the fence, sitting on the top rung as Fons leaned his head in his lap. He talked to him for some time, occasionally sharing a fig as he went, but mostly just trying to explain what had happened to them. Why they would never return south, but how this would be their true home; how Thusnelda was a warrior to rival any Roman legion, and for her, he would do it all again. How he had faith that Fons would walk smoothly when they taught their new child to ride, just as smoothly as he’d learned to carry Arminius since the first time he had fallen asleep in his saddle—before the two of them had worked out a good system to keep Arminius upright. How Fons would have to get used to the snow. How he would live another ten years at least (remember, no more charges) and have a king’s funeral. No other horse Arminius would ride could surpass him, for as long as he lived. How Varus had used them, their entire lives—how Rome would come back and try to conquer them again but would only find failure, and they had a new life here that had been worth giving it all up. How he was afraid. But he was _here_ —they were both here. Finally, Arminius took a slow breath as he reached for the last fig. He considered it for a moment, looking at every angle: the fuzz of the skin, its near-black color in the starlight. He offered it to Fons, who nudged it for a moment before dropping his head back into Arminius’s lap. As Arminius ate it, he smiled and savored it in silence, running his fingers through Fons's mane. ‘We are not going back, my friend. You know that, right?’

“Who are you trying to convince? You or him?” Arminius nearly fell off the fence (only held down by the considerable weight of his horse’s head) as Thusnelda suddenly spoke behind him. She came to his side and Fons turned to her, nudging into her empty hands for new treats, but he walked off with a heavy snort when there were none.

“Your Latin is getting better.”

“My teacher has a talented tongue.” Arminius’s lip twitched into a small grin. He let Thusnelda wrap her arms around his waist when he swung back to her side and leaned over to place a kiss on the top of her head, cradling it to his chest.

“How do you feel? Is the little one giving you fits?” he murmured into her hair, loosening it from her cap and running his fingers through it. She nuzzled closer, pulling his cloak around her own shoulders for a moment, savoring the embrace.

“No, little one is quiet tonight. I think that he feels better now that he’s no longer a secret.” Arminius nodded, tightening his hug. They stayed in silence with each other for some time before Thusnelda broke it. “We need to enjoy just each other while we can.” He laughed softly, then turned her face up to his, kissing her forehead.

“You should be sleeping, Nelda.”

“So should you. Come.” He let her pull him down from the fence and lead her back into the hall, now empty but for Talio, who when they entered wove and retired himself. They made their way back to their chambers, where there was now a steady fire in the hearth. Thusnelda guided him to the edge of their bed and cupped his face in her hands. For a moment, her eye rested on his, but he turned his face into her hand, kissing her palm. “Ari? Are you _he_ —”

“Yes, I am _here_. I promise.” He rose his hands, pulling her closer and resting one on her belly. “I am just…” he shook his head and closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her thumbs tracing across his cheeks and her warmth under his hands. “Much has happened.” Thusnelda nodded. Arminius breathed a small laugh. “And he is good company.”

“So, fruit and horses, then?” Arminius smiled and pulled her forward, placing a soft kiss on her stomach before leaning back, looking her in the eye with mock seriousness.

“Yes, it was fruit and horses. That’s all Rome was to me.” He gently pulled her down beside him, laying her down and taking her by the hand, leaning over her to kiss her softly on the lips. “Not the army,” he kissed her cheek, “not the circus,” her neck, “the baths,” her collarbone, “or the slaves.” He turned his face back up to hers. Suddenly there was a devious gleam in her eye, and she shot up, rolling him to his back and pinning his wrists together above his head.

“Not the slaves, Ari? Really?” she bent down to kiss him herself. “Clearly there is still plenty of serving to do up here.” Thusnelda hummed a low laugh, nuzzling his neck. “You are growing bold, _Dominus._ ” He couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him at the word.

“I am learning, My Lady.” His breath hitched as her free hand began to trail down his torso. Her fingers rested on the belt over his tunic before she expertly unbuckled it. The gleam in her eye turned wicked.

“But,” she slid her hand beneath his tunic, her nails grazing the bare skin beneath and loosening the waist of his woolen pants, “you still have much to learn.” As Thusnelda slid her hand beneath the fabric and took a hold of him, giving one agonizingly slow stroke, he gasped, his voice breaking.

“Then teach me.”

Thusnelda let out a husky hum. “Then let me look at you, amica mea.” He couldn’t help the small smile that pulled onto his face. She had immediately grown fond of his loss for their language when he was otherwise occupied, unable to think in any other way—and she had taken to using it to her advantage. She sat up, maneuvering herself to straddle his legs as she drew her hand back away from him, bracing herself on his bound wrists and inching the fabric of his tunic up as far as she could without letting him move. It was clear he was aching to. She saw the tension built in the muscles of his chest and could feel the tendons in his hands pulling as he dug his nails into his palms, but otherwise he remained still, his breathing even and deep through his nose. When her hand moved back down to his waistline again, he did not break her gaze. His breath only caught when she loosened his waistband even further. Thusnelda drew her hand away from his wrists and sat back, admiring him—the plane of his chest, rising and falling with deep breaths, to the ridges of his hips laid bare, the flush that was crossing his cheeks, the growing bulge beneath the layers of his trousers. He clenched his jaw, but otherwise remained still. Thusnelda nodded, a sly smile on her face. “Very good,” she said, tracing her fingernail from his hipbone over his abdomen, ghosting over his chest and grazing his nipple, which he shuddered at, a small noise escaping his throat—but he remained still. “You _are_ learning.”

“Thank you,” he murmured. His eyes were glassy as Thusnelda began tugging at the hem of his tunic, guiding him up to help her—they threw it on the floor beside them, and he sat up, carefully hiking her dress up over her body, and as he pulled it over her head, he dropped it beside his shirt. As he was pulling her dress up, she inched his trousers down until they were caught on his knees and he kicked back, knocking them to join the rest of their clothes. Arminius pulled Thusnelda into his lap as they sat up and they came together into a slow but crushing kiss, hands tangled in each other’s hair.

As Thusnelda ground her hips against him, he let out a slow and desperate groan and broke away for air, grabbing her by the hip and pulling her against him. When he spoke into her shoulder, his voice was tight. “Thus—”

“Not yet,” she purred. She in turn gasped as he bit down lightly on her shoulder. She pulled away further, pushing him back onto his back, and taking the opportunity to stalk downwards, trailing kisses as she went. She finally reached his hips and she tightened her grip on them, kissing him down from his navel to reach his waistline, but drew away, her hand moving downward and cupping him, rolling his sack in her fingers. She couldn’t help but feel satisfaction at the way she watched his legs quiver. “Thusnelda, please,” he panted. He couldn’t help but call out her name as she suddenly took him into her mouth and his hands shot downwards, grasping her shoulders as if for support.

“Dei Gratia, Thusnelda, ameca mea, tū es perfectio!” The words spilled out of his mouth, his body now writhing against her as she drew her lips away, tracing her tongue up his length and leaving him in excruciating limbo only for a moment before taking him into her mouth once again. She still could not get over how easily she undid him; how readily he gave himself to her and how trusting he was as she taught him things about his own body that he never knew. He was willing to let her lead. Reik or not—equal partner, could-be king, hero to his people—they both knew that at least in these matters, he worshiped her alone. As she repeated the motion, she felt him tensing and clutching at her shoulders, threading his fingers through her hair, guiding her speed as she went—but as she came up for air, she slowly pulled away, and he couldn’t stifle the desperate noise he made, eyes latching onto hers. She crawled backwards and reached for him to follow her, and he kneeled, taking her into his arms and kissing her fiercely. “Carissima mea, te amo, te requiro,” he begged as he broke away, eyes dark and hungry. While Thusnelda’s Latin was still quite lacking, she had quickly learned what his desperate pleas meant, even if she didn’t remember the definitions of the words. 

As she rolled her hips away from him, he couldn’t help but rake his eyes across her body, taking in every curve and every ridge of defined muscle. He was entranced. He ran his hands across her, reaching forward to pull her back up towards him, but she stayed his hand. He made a frustrated noise and she pulled away completely, breaking their contact but for her hand trailing across his. “You will have to learn it this way, Ari,” Thusnelda said, “Soon I probably won’t fit front to front.” He glanced down at her belly, again, only ever so slightly rounded now—but not for too much longer. He skimmed his hand across it, resting for only a moment as they both smiled, but then he nodded, a hint of nerves in his eyes. “You will do just fine.” She cupped her hand against his cheek and her eye met his and she leaned forward, leaving the ghost of a kiss across his lips, and as she pulled away, they parted as if he was trying to speak. She beat him to it. “Ari, I love you.”

Thusnelda twisted away from him, her back now pressed against him. While he held her firmly against him with his right hand, he ran his left up from her hips to her ribs, then to her breast, which he cupped into his hand and traced the contours of with his fingers, burying his face into her neck and breathing her in as she moaned. He nipped at her gently from the crook of her neck upwards, then back down, sucking lightly and leaving behind a trail of small marks that satisfied him greatly while his right hand slid down from her hip, running through the curls between her legs before he slid a finger downwards between her folds. She gasped his name. As his finger began to run circles across her clit and he pushed his knee between her legs to open them, she allowed it, easing his access. He couldn’t help but grind himself against her as he felt her slicken beneath his touch, and as he reached farther, he carefully slid his fingers into her, gripping her tightly as she bucked into his hand. He was in awe, still: how he had the ability to draw these reactions out of her. How sincerely she desired him and how much of her she let him have.

As he reached indo her, his thumb now massaging her clit while his fingers relaxed and spread her wider, her legs opening even further and her hips arching into him, Arminius bowed over her, kissing up her spine and shoulder blades to her neck. “Are you ready?” he asked, loosening his grip on her center, grasping her instead by the hips and pressing her back against him, desperate for contact. She pulled herself forward and leaned down across the bedding, turning her head back to look over her shoulder, hair spilling in a wild tangle over her back and shoulders, cheeks flushed. Her reply was not a request: her voice was deep and breathy, and she turned her hips back to him, clutching at his thigh with one and bracing herself with the other.

“You, inside me. Now.” She didn’t need to say it twice.

Arminius rolled his hips forward and lined them up, and slowly, gently, he pushed himself into her, each thrust inching deeper. His breath faltered. This was new. “Thusnelda, you are…” he didn’t seem to know how to finish before his body seemed to take over, and as he almost involuntarily bucked into her, she took the opportunity to take his hand to her lips, kissing his palm and rocking her hips back onto his. The slow rhythm they set grew harder, but they stayed in sync. As they lost themselves in each other, he suddenly let go of her hips to pull her body flush against his, tightening their angle even further, cradling her against his chest with a desperation for closeness they could both feel. Suddenly he let go with one arm and she felt him reach downwards, teasing her clit while he rode her. She couldn’t help the startled cry as she involuntarily clenched around him. He gripped her tighter against him; so tight that she almost couldn’t breathe, and she felt herself building, her hands clutching wildly at him, pulling them harder together with each thrust, until Arminius tucked his head into her neck, his breathing shallow and hoarse. She could barely stand it any longer, her body tensing and pulling away from her, the world around her falling away until it was only him. Only them. On the edges of her ecstasy, just as she was about to fall over the edge, she heard his voice, “Nelda, I will—I am—I love you,” and she felt him spill into her. It was enough. Thusnelda crashed over him, their orgasms rocking them both as they shuddered against each other, unable to speak. They collapsed, Arminius pulling them to their sides, his arms loose around her, but shaking as he tried to pull her closer. She pushed back against him and she felt him quiver one last time before he breathed, “Thusnelda, I love you, I will always love you.” Thusnelda trailed her trembling hand to his and threaded her fingers through his own, a smile across her face.

“Ari, I love you.” It was the last thing spoken before dreamless, sound sleep overtook them.

***

The morning was cold, but Arminius woke tangled in Thusnelda’s arms, nuzzling into her hair and kissing her cheek. She did not stir more than a small, contented noise that escaped her lips, and he smiled—these were among his favorite moments with her; the ones just before she woke. He always woke before her, especially now—but, today, he would let her sleep. They were both worried that with the way little one had been treating her she wouldn’t get such exceptional sleep often, and he didn’t mind knowing that she was having a few more moments to herself—he knew how much she cherished them, even as much as she enjoyed his company. His eyes rested on her in the dim morning of their hall, memorizing the curve of her jaw, her nose, the flutter of her eyelids, the thick pink of the scar raised alongside the right side of her face: the mark which he, his children, and their tribe would wear now in honor of her for the rest of time. He’d had no idea what he had lived without his whole life until he reentered hers. While he had been a whole person before, now he was something even more—and they were more together. Together, they could have ruled—but it would have put everything they’d gained at such a risk, how could they now justify it? They had won their prize. They had each other, they had their tribe, they had secured a little more safety for the child they were bringing into the world, and they would still have wars to fight, which they both looked forward to eagerly. _She would probably go into battle with the baby strapped to her back if I let her,_ he thought. He smiled. Someday, though, they would win unquestionably—Rome would not come back, and the Cherusci would have proved themselves formidable enough that no tribe would rise to challenge them. _Not while we’re alive._ They still had Folkwin to worry about, and they still had Thusnelda’s jilted former betrothed Reik Hadgan—and who knew if Segestes was plotting against them. It was likely.

For now, though, they had quiet and each other. He pulled away from her as gently as he could, and he was satisfied when she only stirred. “I love you, Thusnelda,” he whispered down to her, and he was warmed by the shadow of a smile that crossed her face. He bent to place one last kiss across her cheek and got up to begin the day.

**Author's Note:**

> **Latin Definitions**  
> “Dei Gratia, Thusnelda, amica mea, tū es perfectio!" "Grace of God, Thusnelda, my love, you are perfection!"  
> “Carissima mea, te amo, te requiro,” “I love you, my dear, I need you,”
> 
> Special thanks for Eastern_Lights for correcting my bad Latin! :)


End file.
